


Sketchbook

by queerquackson



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerquackson/pseuds/queerquackson
Summary: Simon gets a hold of Baz's personal sketchbook. Whatever is in it, Baz definitely didn't want to be found, but hey, this is neat too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Baz’s POV**

Snow, real snow, falls here rarely. Very rarely. So rarely, in fact, that when it snowed today, classes were let out early. Everyone else was excited and dashed out the doors, scrambling to put on their coats and gloves. I went straight back to my dorm. It’s too bloody cold to be outside, anyway.

But when I shut the door, I run into Snow, person Snow.   
“Crowley,” I scowl, “watch it.”

Snow doesn’t apologize, just dashes out the door like he’s five hours late for a final exam, which, face it, he could be.

I settle on my bed with my books, spreading them out. I kind of wish Bunce was here to help me. She’s a pain in the arse to listen to, but she makes good flashcards.

 

When Snow comes back, he out of breath and grinning so wide his bright white teeth show. He strides in coolly, throwing his blazer on a desk chair along with his other, folded, clothes. His golden hair is sweaty but still bounces on his head. 

“Shit, Snow, did you run a marathon?” I snort.

He doesn’t answer. It’s agitating.

 

The next day, bloody Agatha is in class, sitting right next to my seat like she actually wants to be near me and twirling her blonde hair around a pen flirtatiously. I collapse in my chair. Something about class is different.

“Hey, Basilton,” Agatha says, drawing out each syllable of my name. I have to admit she’s a good flirt. If I was the least bit bisexual, I would consider dating her.

But I’m not. So I don’t.

The professor starts class, and she starts writing down words I don’t recognize on the board. I dig out a piece of notebook paper and a pen.

And I realize what’s different.

“My sketchbook.” I mutter under my breath.

Agatha glances at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” But my sketchbook isn’t here. Which means I don’t know where it is. Which means it’s lost.

It can’t be lost.

I fumble and re-fumble through all my things, looking in the desk and under it and around it and over the floor in case I dropped it. Maybe I just left it behind. By the time I look back up at the board, I’m completely lost.

Fuck.

 

I speed-walk back to the dorm. Thankfully, Snow isn’t there. I toss back the sheets of my bed. It’s not there. Not even on the desk. I’m going bloody crazy.

What if the last person I want in the world to have it, does have it?

 

**Simons POV**

I have the sketchbook.

Aleister Crowley, I have the sketchbook.

I’m flipping through the pages, admiring all different kinds of artwork. I’ve had my eye on it since Penny pointed it out in our second year. And now that I’ve got it, I don’t know what to feel.

I didn’t let Penny look, just in case it was something super personal to Baz. It is. 

The pages are filled with different variations of me.

Sure, there’s the occasional flower vase or random, hovering eye, but I’d say over half of it is me. Portraits, side views, my hand in my pants pockets. They’re all ridiculously good. Of course, I can draw as good as I can control my magic, so everything is good to me. Nevertheless, there’s one page that I linger on. It’s a charcoal drawing of Baz and I.

And we’re bloody kissing.

One of his hands in on my lower back. Our lips fit like puzzle pieces. Both of our eyes are closed, and he’s put in the time to carefully design each individual eyelash. Every one of my freckles are there, too. The drawing goes down to my waist and his knee, and then evaporates. I want to see it finished.

“What is it?” Penny asks. We’re standing in the middle of the white courtyard, taking in the snow while it’s here. I slam the book shut, that last drawing burning in my mind and on my warming cheeks.

“You know, the stereotypical artist stuff. Fruit. Cats. You know.” I say as convincing as I possibly can. I wonder how my body can be so hot when it's freezing out here.

I’m going to confront him about this tonight. After all, I saw him in class today. And then running back to the dorm. I can’t possibly keep this a secret.

 

**Baz’s POV**

He walks in the doorway, grinning like the day before.

In his hands shines the blue cover of the bloody fucking sketchbook.

“Snow.” I growl from the other side of the room. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“I know your secret.”

“Like hell you do.”

He opens the book and turns to the unfinished drawing I’ve been working on lately. It’s the most humiliating thing he could possibly see. The strokes are all messy, and his eye is lopsided.

“Like hell I do.” Snow mocks.

I grab a fistfull of his shirt and push him against the wall. The Roommate's Anathema says no harming the other person, but it says nothing against intimidation.

“You know,” Snow continues, “you’re not that bad-looking either. Your hair looks nice when you’re about to kill me.”

“Snow.”

“And your clothes always fit just right.”

“ _Snow_.”

“Your personality is complete shit. But we can fix that.”

“ _Simon_.” I say.

He grabs my face with both hands and kisses me on the lips.

 

**Simon’s POV**

I like this. It’s different than when I kissed Agatha so long ago. His lips are warm like my cheeks were this afternoon. I've never kissed a boy. I don’t break away.

 

**Baz’s POV**

I have no idea what games Snow is playing with me. Right now, I don’t even fucking care. Because my sketchbook is on his bed, opened to that one page, and I’m kissing Simon fucking Snow. I don’t break away.

 

**Simon’s POV**

One of his hands in on my lower back. Our lips fit like puzzle pieces. Both of our eyes are closed, and we’re so close to each other’s faces that our eyelashes meet and flutter. His index finger is touching every one of my freckles. Our waists are pressed against each other, and his knee is quivering against mine.

 

**Baz’s POV**

He has my sketchbook, but I don’t want to kill him. I _want_ to dig a hole and hide in it, but this is better.

Finally, he lets go. 

"Your face is as red as a tomato." He says. I barely keep myself from punching him square in the jaw. 

"Why the hell did you just do that?" I ask, pushing my body off of his and to the bed to retrieve my sketchbook. "You can't just do that, Simon."

He raises his eyebrows, teasingly. "Simon?"

"Snow."

"Nope. You said Simon."

I close the book, but I don't know where to put it now that Snow knows it exists. I used to keep it in the bottom drawer of my desk, only taking it out to bring to class. That was stupid. "Don't change the subject."

"But you called me Simon."

"If you keep changing the subject, everyone is going to be calling you dead. Because I killed you." I tuck the sketchbook under my sheets when he looks away for a second. I'll find somewhere more permanent later. 

"I didn't just kiss you. I mean, yeah, I kissed you, but there's, there's more to it." He's stumbling over his words. "I'm not playing with your emotions. Penny knew you were gay. I didn't believe her, but I promised to never mess with you. I'm still not."

"So..."

"Baz."

"Simon."

He smiles and I roll my eyes. But I can't roll them that far, because they're stuck to Snow's own ocean eyes. 

"I like you." He says, reaching out for my hand. 

 

**Simon's POV**

"Now's the part where you say, 'I like you too, Simon.'" I urge. 

He doesn't speak. Just stares at my palm. And then back up to my face. And then to my palm. And then to my face. Like a game of tennis.  

Quiet as a mouse, he whispers to me, "I like you too, Simon. You incredible, disastrous little fuck."

I laugh. 

He grabs my shirt- again- and kisses me. I sit on his bed without taking my lips away from his, but I sit on something that's not a mattress. Baz digs out the sketchbook from under me and sends it skidding across the dorm floor. I'm shorter than Baz by a good three inches. It doesn't matter too much when we're both sitting on the bed, but he's holding me by the back of my head so I don't fall off. I think he's leaning me back more just so he can tangle his fingers through my hair. 

When we stop, we don't move from our position. I'm looking up into Baz's eyes. They're a stony grey, but with little specks of a light sapphire. 

His eyes don't make sense. I don't try to make sense of him. Because neither of us make sense, not really. Especially not us together. Mortal enemies. And yet I still want to keep kissing him. 

Baz drops me off the bed. 

"Fuck," I curse, "was that really necessary?" 

"Yes. It was. Also I hate you."

"Your sketchbook doesn't seem like you hate me."

He scowls, but his face still looks like a fucking tomato. I can't take him seriously. I sit up and flinch, my tailbone feels bruised. 

"Did the Anathema just miss that or something?" I point out. 

Baz snorts. "I guess all the kissing cancels it out."

"If we kiss more, does that mean I get to deck you?"

He smirks. "I don't know. Just in case, let's find out."

 


	2. Snow- Sketchbook Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz learns more about why he actually kept the sketchbook with him. Simon knows there’s no turning back, what happened already happened. Penny also makes a guest appearance. Sorry this summary sucks.

**Simon**

Baz is still kissing me. I don’t think he knows how to stop. 

“Baz,” I mumble. He doesn’t hear. “Baz. Baz!”

He pulls away, a little annoyed. 

“How... Wha...”

I’m half expecting him to shush me and dive back into my lips. That’s what Agatha did when we were having one of our few makeout sessions. Granted, Baz is nothing like her. He’s elegant, I guess. Crowley. I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts. 

Baz pushes off me and sits on the other side of the bed. I’m still looking straight up at the ceiling. 

“Are you alright?” Baz asks. “I’m sorry.”

I scoff unintentionally. “A bloke just kissed me, a lot. My head hurts. And now you’re apologizing. So no, I’m not alright.”

He flinches. I’ll admit that was a tad bit harsh. 

“I should leave.” He says, and closes the door behind him. 

A flash of blue catches my attention. The sketchbook is lying next to the door. He didn’t take it with him. 

How long has he been working on the piece, anyway? It looked awfully neat but something like that would take at least a week, assuming he only worked on it during his free periods. 

More importantly, how long has he thought of me like that? The bastard never showed it before. He’s been what he’d always been, a complete and total bastard. 

I wonder where he went. Surely he would’ve been a little effected by snogging with me for what, a good five minutes straight. 

Aleister Crowley fuck.

That was probably the best five minutes of my life.

I still feel high from it. Baz was for sure dizzy with euphoria. I could feel him trembling when he was on top of me, grappling my face and straddling my hips.

So why did I make him stop?

 

** Baz **

Why did he make me stop? 

I mean, he was kissing me back too. I think. It was mostly me, shoving my tongue down his throat. And he wasn’t even gay. 

I slam my fist into the wall of the catacombs and watch as the pain sets in and blood rises to the surface. Flexing my hand, I continue down the stairs. 

Just another predatory gay. 

Ruined another possibility. 

Another bloody possibility.

I could run. Just grab all my things and sprint to Fiona’s. Come up with a lie, that Simon was too powerful, that the headmaster tried to kill me, that the humdrum is stronger than I thought and we needed to leave the country now. Maybe move to America. That place is already so fucked up they wouldn’t notice a vampire in their midst. 

 

I spend more time in the catacombs than I’ve spent in a long while. Thinking. About the bloody sketchbook. About the humiliation of Simon seeing it. About Simon’s lips. About him kissing me back. 

About how Bunce knew I was gay. I though I had hidden it good enough. 

I shake off my hand, healed at least a little bit. 

 

** Simon **

“And then he left.” 

Penny looks at me. “Where?”

I shrug. She stifles a snort. “Let me get this straight. You found the sketchbook, kissed him, and he left?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

We double over laughing like little kids. 

“Crowley, Simon, you’re a disaster!” 

“That’s what he said!” I say without thinking, which makes us laugh harder. 

“Bunce.” Says Baz from the doorway. It’s not a question but not really a statement, either. Penny gives me a smirk and I return with flipping her off. Baz repeats himself and Penny sighs but gets off the bed. 

“You  told her?” Baz growls. 

“No.”

“I could hear you from the hall.”

I stand so I’m at least a little more intimidating. “What was I supposed to do?”

Baz runs his hand through his hair and winces. “Not  tell her, bastard.” He throws a spell out to increase the temperature in the room. 

“It’s too cold outside for your vampirey tastes?” I cross my arms and try my hardest to look pissed with him instead of the other way around. 

He scoffs. 

“Look. You can’t confess your feelings and then leave.” I say. “That’s not how this works.”

“Fuck if you know how this works.”

My face contorts involuntarily into tens of expressions. “Agatha. What about Agatha?”

Baz notices the sketchbook lying on the floor and throws it into his desk drawer. “What about her?”

“If you’re gay, why are you dating her?” 

Baz shrugs. I swear if he shrugs one more time, I’m going to kill him. I don’t care what the Anathema does. But maybe all the kissing does cancel it out. 

“She’s going to be crushed. Two blokes breaking up with her in such a short time.” I argue. “Why’d you even start it? Just to spite me?” 

“Do we have a lock anywhere? A zip tie, perhaps?” He looks in a few drawers before giving up and sitting in the desk chair. 

I wave him off. “I’ve already seen it.” 

Baz glares at me but says nothing. Maybe there’s nothing to say. Maybe there’s everything to say.

 

** Baz **

I’m trying to stay around him long enough to talk it out. I don’t remember him being this bloody difficult. 

I should kiss him to make him shut up. After all, that’s what he did to me. 

But now I don’t know what either of us feel. I shouldn’t risk it. 

“You just left me! You left me and I...” Snow’s face goes red, which is rather funny, but I end up going red too. Fuck me. 

“You what?” I raise my eyebrows. 

“That’s not important. Just don’t leave me! And my ex, Crowley, my ex! My friend! She’s all over you, you know. Probably writes “Agatha and Basilton” all over her books. You can’t leave her too. You can’t be some... fuck boy.”

“Screw you, Snow.” I mutter. It feels weird to not be yelling it but it would do no good. He’s not listening anyway. 

“What have I gotten myself into? Bloody hell, Baz. You can’t... I can’t.... I don’t know.”

I turn the book around in my hands. I could’ve hidden it better. Not let anyone seen it, if I really didn’t want him to see. There must’ve been a small part of me that wanted him to find out. 

I get up close, like I’m going to punch him. He goes quiet. I admire the way the sun bounces off his golden curls and shines through the window blinds on the freckles that spot his cheeks and neck and collarbone.

I lean in and he finishes the distance. 

 

Soon we’re back on his bed. I lose myself in him again. He’s laughing but not at me. And his laughs are soft. They come when I kiss his neck, those freckles I’m so fond of. And the mole on his cheek. I get to kiss every part of him that I’ve longed to do since I was young. 

 

When we finally stop, tired and lips sore, we watch the snow fall and paint the school white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wayward Son is almost here and I’m freaking out

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading even though this was shit. I'm very sad and gay. Might make this fic longer if I remember about it next week. Also my comma key broke in the middle of this, I think. Now I have to press on it hard which is going to be a pain.


End file.
